


hold your tongue

by hananapeel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hananapeel/pseuds/hananapeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ennoshita tutors futakuchi in english and bribes him with sour gummies & kisses</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> for hqrarepairweek day 2: language
> 
> i had this headcanon that ennoshita was great at languages after watching so many foreign movies and this is the result. pls read original [ennofuta](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2893118) by [memorde](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorde/pseuds/memorde)!!!! also 1203984 trophies for mvp beta [jsunny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jsunny)

There were a lot of things Futakuchi didn’t know, but one thing he did know was himself: he looked best in green; his record for most sour gummies eaten in an hour was 108; he felt guilty about his atrocious English because his father was an English teacher back home. It was his awareness of the last one in particular that drew Futakuchi towards the worst student in English 231 after grabbing his test from the front. He glanced at the grade at the top (solid 72), sighed, and scanned the lecture hall. Finally zeroing in on the boy he needed, he grinned. No matter what, he had definitely done better than Sleeping Guy in the Back Right, whose face has never actually been seen because he was always slumped over on his desk.

Sure enough, there he was, head pillowed by a combination of arms and a crumpled sweatshirt, fine hair sticking up floppily on the left side, coffee bought in morning optimism now abandoned on the ground next to his seat. Sidling sideways through the row, Futakuchi slid into the seat next to him just in time for the professor to begin her mindnumbingly dull lecture on past participles. “Hey man,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, aiming for a conspiratorial, confide-in-me tone, “Dude, I totally bombed the last test. How’d you do?”

No response. Futakuchi was just realizing how weird it was for him to sit next to Sleeping Guy just so he could feel better about himself when he heard a _snore_ , muffled slightly by arms but seriously, how soundly did this guy sleep? As Futakuchi leaned closer to confirm that yes, that was the soft wheezing of someone deep in dreams, he saw the corner of Sleeping Guy’s test peeking out from under his folded arms. One last check and hand wave in front of his eyes and Futakuchi was trying to wiggle the paper from under sleeping limbs as surreptitiously as possible. Just a little more... just one more centimeter and he’d be able to see the first digit…

Suddenly, with an unexpected loss of the dead weight holding down the test, Futakuchi found himself gripping the test with too much pressure and awkwardly meeting the eyes of an _awake_ Sleeping Guy, whose expression quickly narrowed from sleepy confusion to sharp and wary suspicion. “Hello...” he said, sarcasm impressively biting for someone with drool stains dried in a telltale streak down his chin.

Futakuchi cleared his throat. “Ahh.. hello...” He tried for a winning smile, which probably didn’t work because he saw Sleeping Guy’s eyes narrow even more. Damn it. Should’ve listened to Kamasaki when he’d informed Futakuchi that his winning smile wasn’t so winning, apparently.

Clearing his throat again, Futakuchi searched the classroom for excuse inspiration but found none. “Mmm.. well... I can explain...” He glanced down at the test, which in the force of his grip was now crumpled a bit in the corner, and lost his train of thought. Circled in red on the test of Sleeping Guy in the Back Right, the one person Futakuchi thought he could count on to do worse than him, was a 98, complete with a smiley face and “Fantastic!” scrawled above it.

“You... You got a 98...” Could he trust _anyone_ anymore? Overcome with a sudden feeling of betrayal, Futakuchi thrust the paper back to “Ennoshita Chikara,” according to the neatly printed name written in the corner. He turned back to face the front and slumped forward, cradling his face in his hands.

A quiet laugh came from his left. “Are you pouting?”

“Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“Well, I was going to offer to help tutor you, but...”

Futakuchi’s pride held for a couple of seconds until he gave Ennoshita a wary, sidelong glance. The idea of coming home and bragging to his dad that no, he did not suck at English and yeah, in fact, it was the easiest class in his schedule, was too tempting to pass up. “Well...”

\---

“Are you paying attention, Futakuchi?”

Yes, he had been– not to verb conjugations but instead to the lush curl of Ennoshita’s eyelashes, subtle pout of his relaxed mouth, soft smoothness of his neatly parted hair. He had been looking not at the sentences dissected and explained with precise handwriting but rather at the hand that wrote them, the trimmed nails and tapered fingers that held a pencil with natural grace.

It was no love at first sight; instead a gentle slide, slow as one of Ennoshita’s smiles, and just as easy. It was easy to slip into this routine, of furtive conversations over milkshakes smuggled past “No eating in the library” signs and idle walks back to dorms under the glow of dim streetlamps. It was as easy as falling, and the rush just as exhilarating.

“Futakuchi. Futakuchi.” Ennoshita sighed in the face of Futakuchi’s lack of response, and leaned down to pull out something from his backpack. “Maybe you need some incentive today.” He dropped it with a small thump on the table, grinning when he saw the look on Futakuchi’s face.

“Sour gummies?!? How did you know?”

Ennoshita scoffed. “Please, you buy one of these every day from the vending machine after class. You can have one for every question you get right.”

“Peachy keen, jellybean,” Futakuchi said, quoting from when Ennoshita made him watch _Grease_ with him for “studying purposes.” Apparently, an unhealthy addiction to American TV and movies had provided Ennoshita his flawless accent and easy grades, despite having designated English 231 as naptime to make up for sleep lost over countless late-night movie marathons. Ennoshita wrinkled his nose at Futakuchi’s awful Rizzo accent, and the expression was so cute that Futakuchi didn’t notice that Ennoshita had already pulled out the textbook in search of good questions until it was too late.

Ennoshita spent the next hour alternating between chucking neon gummy worms into Futakuchi’s open mouth like three-pointers and frowning at him like it was his fault when he yelped too loudly trying to catch an errant worm and a librarian came over to scold them.

After a particularly spectacular mid-air catch, Futakuchi collapsed into his seat. “Let’s stop; I feel like a dog,” he complained, partially because his jaw ached and partially because Ennoshita looked far too good with that carefree grin and the sour crystals sparkling on his lips from stolen gummies.

Ennoshita grinned and leaned back in his chair. “I’m just providing treats for when you’re a good boy.”

“What if I don’t want those treats anymore,” Futakuchi said petulantly, and when Ennoshita gave him a disbelieving look, he pouted. “I’m full.”

A pause, and then Ennoshita glanced up at him through his eyelashes, his innocent look betrayed by a wicked smile. “Well, is there anything else that would motivate you?”

It took a second for Futakuchi to understand his point. It took a second for a flush to bloom red on his ears, and it took a second for his heart to start beating again. But when it did, it beat with gusto, drumming a rapid rhythm against his chest. Every second that he sat there, frozen and replaying that smile again and again, blood rushed in frantic waves, leaving him dazed and floating in its wake.

“Yeah,” Futakuchi finally choked out, and stood up so quickly that his chair toppled over. He grabbed Ennoshita’s hand and, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck, pushed him against the back side of a bookshelf, away from sight; they looked at each other for a few moments until Ennoshita laughed softly and reached up to wrap his arms around Futakuchi’s neck. “Hurry up and kiss me, idiot...”

So it was there, hidden behind scarred wooden bookshelves and under the flickering yellow glow of old fluorescent lights that their lips first tentatively pushed together, a shy courting of breath and sour-sweet tongue, gentle give and subtle press, slowly melding with the curl of fingers in hair and curve of closing eyelids. A first kiss– the first of many to be pressed into skin between heated whispers or sleepily brushed in early morning laziness. The first of many, a taste of what would be to come, soft words exchanged in the breeze of candied breath, language and meaning lost between the crush of sugared lips.

**Author's Note:**

> kisses,, im so embarrassed...
> 
> haha thanks for reading!!!!! find me on [tumblr](http://hananapeel.tumblr.com)


End file.
